


The Color of Passion

by filthybonnet



Category: Hannibal (2001), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris, Hannibal Rising (2007), The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
Genre: Breathplay, Drug Use, Edgeplay, F/M, Incest Play, Oral Sex, Roleplay, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:03:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4989517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthybonnet/pseuds/filthybonnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a gift to Hannibal, each year on Mischa’s birthday Clarice takes on her persona and roleplays with him. However this year, Hannibal finds the tradition difficult as he finally realizes Mischa belongs in his Memory Palace far away from Clarice. Now he fears that the tea cup will come back together this time and he’ll lose the woman he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bath Time

Clarice looked at the garment bag that hung on her closet door. She wondered want style the dress was this year because she already knew the color: eggplant purple, the color of _her_ passion. Starling already heard the bath water running as she looked down at her night stand; two syringes laid there. One full, the other pushed down and empty. She ran her fingers over it, a little surprised that he decided to use the drugs. She sat down on the edge of the bed, closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Clarice knew this was coming. It was one day; a far cry from his original confusion of familial and romantic love but she still was always anxious. 

This idea was originally Clarice’s; she held onto her birth date and brought it up the first time it came around when they were together. It quickly became part of their other yearly celebrations. The first year Clarice was the one who wanted a full, strong dose of the hypnotherapy drug. Now in the third year her anxiety was more out of anticipation; anticipation to see what Hannibal would do. She no longer used the drugs and Hannibal had never used them; which was why she was surprised at seeing he must have injected before her arrival. 

Clarice opened her eyes when she heard the squeak of the faucet handles being turned off. It was time. Today was the one day of the year where the largest spirit of Dr. Lecter’s Memory Palace got to open the door and run free. She quickly kicked her shoes off and pulled her socks off. Once less thing to remove in the bathroom.

The bathroom door opened to reveal Hannibal simply dressed in dark blue slacks and a white shirt. He looked at her, his maroon eyes soft. He studied her and chuckled lightly as he shook his head. Clarice ran a bit longer to make sure she was extra sweaty. Chucks of her hair had escaped her pony tail and were matted to her neck. 

“Oh Mischa, one cannot attend their own birthday party looking so messy,” he stepped into the room.

“And why not?” she adopted a childlike voice and flopped back onto the bed. 

“We are having a party for you. And we got you a new pretty dress to wear to it. You don’t want to get that dirty do you?”

She stood up and smiled. Hannibal walked over and took one of her hands into his, “Come I prepared a bath for you.”

“With soap bubbles?”

“Of course.”

She smiled large.Once in their large bathroom, Hannibal stopped her in the doorway. All the windows were open letting in the bright afternoon light and breeze. Several vases of white roses and lavender sat on the counters adding fragrance to the room. Next to one of them was a folded plum colored plush blanket. 

“Let’s get you out of these soiled clothes,” Hannibal’s hands were on her waist tugging at her sweat covered shirt.

“I’m a big girl!” she exclaimed and started pulling up her shirt. She purposefully got it stuck on her shoulders. She sighed. “Hanni, help me.”

His hands were softly on her sides grabbing the shirt and gently tugging it over her head. The shirt was now inside out but still on her arms. He walked around to be facing her. She held her arms out in front of her and he then pulled her off her arms. Hannibal dropped the shirt to the floor before placing his fingers on the elastic band of her sports bra, “Do you want help with this too?”

“Yes, please,” she raised her hands up over her head.

Hannibal had to yank the garment with slight force off her body, up over her head and arms. Her breasts bounced back down, resituating themselves in their natural resting spot. Dr. Lecter’s breath caught in his throat as he watched. He guided her arms back down to her sides, his soft eyes not leaving her breasts. Hannibal’s licked his bottom lip and then bit it wishing he’d taken a second dose of the drugs. 

“Misha, I think a big girl like yourself can remove your bottoms,” he turned around and headed towards the bathtub. He stuck his fingers into the bath water pushing the bubbles back and forth.

She pushed her shorts and panties down, stepped out of them and kicked them over to her discarded shirt and bra. She walked up behind and tapped him on the shoulder, “Will you help me into the tub?”

He turned around and placed his hands on her waist. His voice was soft but his grip on her waist firm, “On the count of three. One…two…three!” He bent at the knees and lifted her off the ground, her dangling feet missing the wall of the tub and gently landing on its floor. She couldn’t help but giggle as she sat down. 

Once situated the water level came up midway on her stomach. She scooped up a handful of bubbles and blew them at Hannibal. She smiled as they landed in a pile on his shirt.  
“Come on now,” he rolled his sleeves up over his elbows. “We need those bubbles.” He knelt down beside the tub and grabbed the washcloth that hung over the edge. Hannibal dunked it in the water and then rung it out. 

She then pushed her hands in and out of the water causing it to splash up; some went over the edge getting on Hannibal’s shirt. She laughed. 

“Mischa,” He sighed taking the washcloth to her face. These actions were supposed to be endearing, but they were grating on him. Yes, washing a young child would be like this every day. His memories of her baths were pleasant because it wasn’t entirely his responsibility; they had a nurse. He was old now too, too old to be dealing with a young child. They took measures to prevent that situation from happening since Clarice was still in her childbearing years. 

She continued to smile at him as he washed her forehead and cheeks. Now Hannibal couldn’t help but smile back. He submerged the washcloth back in the water and brought it up to her neck. Droplets rolled down her chest and he watched intently as they got to her breast and dripped off her nipple. The Doctor was reminded of that night on Chesapeake; how the wine droplet sparkled in the firelight as it hung off of Clarice’s nipple waiting for him. Chateau d’Yquem was his favorite but to taste it off her breast was divine. Hannibal shook his head and brought the washcloth down to wipe the droplets away. However his thumb graced her nipple. 

Instead of a soft whimper or moan a childlike giggle escaped her throat, “That tickles, Hanni.”

The washcloth fell from his hands, splashing water up on him. That was not what he wanted to hear. He rose to his feet and walked to the other side of the bathroom, facing away from tub. His wet shirt clung to his chest as he rested one hand on waist and ran the other through his hair. He sighed. _I can’t do this anymore. I was foolish to think this was what I originally wanted. She was right. I could ask her to stop. But this is a gift; it would be rude of me to ask her to stop._

Clarice picked up the washcloth and wiped under her arms and breasts. She then pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She smiled as she rested her chin on her right knee; she was proud of how flustered she made Hannibal. With each year he grew closer to letting go of Mischa. The first year he went along no problems; it was pure roleplay that brought him some solace. However there was hesitation with him the second year. They had just returned home from a week on the French Riviera and the Doctor’s mind was still full of images of Clarice on the beach in bikinis, Clarice sitting at café tables in sundresses, large floppy hats and sunglasses, Clarice tangled up with him in the sheets on the bed of their villa. Those frescos in his memory palace were still drying; he no longer wanted those mixed with Mischa. But she still insisted so he went along. This year though, he wasn’t just hesitant, he took the drugs to even participate. And even then he was removing himself.

And it wasn’t just this event making him let go of Mischa. This birthday celebration was merely the physical action. Clarice often engaged Hannibal in discussion about her. She’d given him enough of a break. She pulled the pony tail holder out of her hair and returned to using the little girl voice, “Hanni’s going to wash my hair right?”

He turned around a sad smile on his face, “Yes, yes he is.”


	2. Pretty In Purple

She reentered the bedroom wrapped in that plush plum blanket. She plopped down onto the bed and curled up into the fetal position pulling the blanket tighter around her. Hannibal entered behind her unbuttoning his wet shirt, muttering under his breath. He opened the door to his walk in closet, turned on the light and went in. 

“Why is she making this difficult?” He untucked the wet shirt and tossed it into the hamper. He owned more than one white shirt but that was beside the point. He yanked a different one off the hanger and took a deep breath as he put it on. “Must remain calm, this is a gift, a special day for us to share.” He started buttoning it up as he walked out of the closet, “Alright, Mischa are you ready to see your new birthday dress?”

“It’s naptime,” She did not move from the bed.

“No, come on we must get you ready. There’s a lovely surprise for you on the terrace.” 

Dr. Lecter walked over to help her up. Instead she rolled away from him and laughed. 

“Oh so you want to play?”

Every time he went to grab her, she rolled the opposite direction, a plum bundle of giggles. After five minutes or so Hannibal stood frustrated, she stopped rolling and bent up slightly to look at him. He expected this so he pounced and was on top of her, legs on both sides of her, hands on both sides of her shoulders, pinning her to the bed.

Hannibal looked down at her and brushed the hair out of her eyes. All he saw looking up at him was Clarice, not Mischa. All he smelt was the scent of his lover, Clarice not his sister, Mischa. All he could feel beneath his body on the bed they shared was Clarice’s body and his loins stirred. 

He swallowed hard, “Do you think…do you think…”

Clarice could sense he was faltering. She pushed him off her, “You’re smothering me, Hannibal.” She then sat up, wrapping the blanket tight around as to completely hide her naked body from him, “I want to see my dress!”

Dr. Lecter took a few deep breaths before pushing himself up off the bed. He forced a sad smiled at her, “Of course. While I get it out why don’t you continue to be a big girl and put your undergarments on?”

She stood and followed him over to her closet door. Silently he removed the garment bag and opened the door for her. She turned on the light as she entered and walked to her dresser. Clarice dropped the blanket and as it turned to a purple pile around her feet she shivered instantly. Goosebumps covered her arms and her nipples perked as she opened the top drawer. Clarice glanced over its contents; mesh and lace lingerie dominated the drawer. She loved her beautiful pieces but today called for something simpler. She pulled a plain pair of cotton panties from a small pile on the right side of the drawer. She put on an equally plain bra since Mischa’s dresses were always conservative at the top. Thankfully most of her bras had stayed plain since they were for daily wear. Almost all her evening dresses required strapless or she went sans bra because it was just easier and kept the elegant cut of the gown intact. 

Clarice turned and looked through the crack in the closet door as she heard Hannibal unzipping the garment bag. They had barely started the events of the day and he was already breaking. _Was he going to ask to fuck his sister and give into some bastardization of Freud? Or ask to stop this whole thing?_

Outside the closet Dr. Lecter looked over at Starling’s night stand and noticed the second syringe sat untouched. He stared at it, his maroon eyes burning, the garment bag heavy in his arm. _She didn’t take it. Maybe I should take it…no she’ll notice the change. Get it together, Lecter it’s just roleplay. How often did you do this with your patients?_

He unzipped the garment bag and looked at the purple dress. It was knee length, a high neckline with a white Peter Pan collar with short cap sleeves and a white sash at the waist to keep from looking so plain. Hannibal pulled the dress from the bag and tossed the bag onto the bed. He took a breath and sighed, “Is everything okay, Mischa?”

“Yes, yes it is,” She pushed the door open and stepped out.

“Well what do you think?” The Doctor held out the dress beside himself and smiled.

Clarice held her breath and tired not to smile. _Lose four inches on the hem; add a tiara and I can be Courtney Love._

“Pretty!” She exclaimed with childlike glee.

He unzipped the dress, allowed the hanger to fall to the floor before he guided it over her head and pulled it down onto her body. He yanked the zipper up fast trying to limit he contact with her body

“Do you think we’ll see the black swans today? I want to see the black swan today. It’s my birthday.”

As Hannibal walked around to face her, she noticed tears in his eyes at the mention of the swans. He smoothed the collar of the dress before squatting and pulling on the hem of the dress to straighten it out.

He looked up at her and smiled, “We’ll see all the swans you want, it’s your special day after all, Mischa.” 

She grabbed the corners of her dress, swayed back and forth and smiled.

He stood back up, “Now over to the vanity and let’s see what we can do with your hair.” 

Dr. Lecter held her hand tight as he led her over to the vanity; as tight as he held Mischa’s hand when those soldiers pulled her away. Clarice watched his reflection as he gently brushed her hair. He was too old for kids now and they were never in her life plans, but in this moment shouldn’t help but contemplate Hannibal Lecter as a father. 

If that tea cup never broke he could have continued to help care for Mischa, maybe he would have never killed. He would have just been a top psychiatrist, married a socialite, sat on the board of the symphony and had a couple of children he would have doted on like he did his sister. She instantly dismissed the idea as too pedestrian for him. Dr. Hannibal Lecter might be an amazing cook but he would never be domestic; even if Mischa had lived. Even now in the reality of the broken tea cup, they lived like husband and wife but they would never be domestic. 

Maybe even if Mischa had lived he would have just stayed a bachelor and taken a socialite mistress once in a while and a musician or opera singer mistress the next time. He would have been Uncle Hanni to Mischa’s kids and doted upon them instead. Clarice smiled. This alternate reality made much more sense for the Doctor. 

He looked up at her reflection as he finished the braid, “And what are we smiling about?”

She took a deep breath and got back into character, “My surprise! And can I go barefoot? It’s my birthday, I don’t want shoes.”

He chuckled lightly, “That is fine but no complaining if the terrace is too hot.”


	3. High Tea

The sheer curtains waved lightly in the breeze on the open glass doors as she stepped through them and onto the terrace. The sun was bright and warm, not too hot and the tiles did not bother her feet like Hannibal had predicted. On the terrace table sat a full spread of high tea, she however ignored it to walk over to the balcony. She rested her elbows on the ledge, cradled her head in her hands and took in the familiar view of Buenos Aires. It never grew old for her. 

Hannibal walked over to the table, lifted the tea pot and poured himself and her a cup, “You’re becoming quite the young lady now, Mischa. I figured we’d celebrate this birthday with high tea. I made Earl Grey for the occasion. I hope that suits you, Mischa.”

She spun around and skipped over to the closest chair and pulled it out.

“No, no, Mischa, that’s my spot,” Hannibal pulled out the chair he stood by. “I have a champagne flute there for myself. High tea is always served with champagne…”

“So where is mine?” She interrupted

“It may be your birthday celebration, but you are too young for champagne.” He lifted the tongs from the sugar bowl, “Now how many lumps of sugar do you want in your tea?”

She yanked them from his hands, “I’m a big girl I’ll add my own sugar and cream.” She flopped down in her chair and crossed her legs and arms, “I still think I should get some champagne. If I’m old enough for high tea for my birthday I’m old enough to have it properly.”

Hannibal sat down, unfolded the crisp white napkin and placed it in his lap, “Not if you’re going to sulk and be rude about it. You know I abhor rudeness, Mischa. Now are you going to sugar your tea or may I use the tongs?”

She uncrossed her arms and used the tongs to drop three cubes in her cup before sitting them across the sugar bowl. She lifted her spoon and stirred the tea until the cubes disintegrated. She took a sip as she watched Hannibal meticulously put one lump of sugar and a touch of cream, stir and take a sip, pinky finger in the air.

 _Pretentious fuck_ , Clarice thought as she eyed the sandwich selection on the bottom of the three tier serving stand. They looked oddly simple for something Hannibal made.

His cup clanked against the saucer as he sat it down, “The sandwiches closest to you are cucumber and cream cheese. And the ones closes to me are smoked salmon and cream cheese. I do hope you try both, they are traditional with high tea and while very plain you’ll find they are quite delicious.” 

It was as if he had read Clarice’s mind and was talking to her and instead of Mischa for a second.

He pointed to the second tier, “And here we have almond scones that go with the clotted cream in the bowl next to the cream.”

“Clotted cream?” She exclaimed. “Clotted, that sounds nasty. Isn’t that what blood does?”

Hannibal paused. He knew she meant it to sound like child wanting confirmation of their knowledge but it took him back. All he saw now was Clarice Starling Ex-Special FBI Agent who knew all about his crimes, had seen all the crime scene photos, seen two of the bodies in person, participating in one of them. She knew the bloodshed he was capable of and letting the blood clot was something he didn’t let happen. 

_She’s toying with me isn’t she? Mischa knew nothing of my crimes because she was dead before I committed them. Did I really just want to bring Mischa back to repent my own sins?_ The realization hit him as he dropped his hands to the table. Dishes clanked. He grabbed the champagne flute and took a swig.

“Is Hanni okay?” She asked grabbing a sandwich and sitting it on her plate.

“Yes, yes don’t worry about me, it’s your special day,” he mustered up a smile as he grabbed a scone for his plate. He spread some clotted cream on it trying to focus on the noises of the city below but they did not cancel out his thoughts. 

_Did I really think putting Mischa in Clarice’s place would cancel out all the crimes I committed? Bring me redemption? Willing to understand that morality isn’t black and white? And what was the point with Clarice right in front of me? She proved we had the same stars, the same views on morality and she of the FBI tasked to bring my downfall, fell in love with me and redeemed me…_

Clarice took a couple bites of her sandwich as she watched Dr. Lecter deep in thought. She smirked; she knew what had to be done in this moment. She uncrossed her legs and reached across the table, “I wanna try the salmon.” She grabbed one of the sandwiches and when she did she purposefully swung her hand out knocking Hannibal’s tea cup off the table. 

“Clarice, no!” he exclaimed.

Too late. She dropped the sandwich on her plate before resituating herself in her chair, erect her full attention focused on him. He had called out her name, _not_ his sister’s.

For The Doctor the cup seemed to land on the tile in slow motion. Tea splashed up onto his pant legs as the cup collapsed into pieces underneath it. _It’s going to collect this time. I don’t want it to so naturally it will happen. A world of what ifs will replace a flawed world of my own making filled with beauty. I no longer want the what ifs. I haven’t wanted them for a while. For years I wanted those shards to collect and now that they will, it’s a cruel irony._

Dr. Lecter held his breath and watched that broken tea cup, waiting for the inevitable.


	4. Shards of Love

The shards did not move. Entropy did not decrease. The pieces did not recollect and reform into an unbroken cup. Hannibal let out the breath he’d been holding. “Oh thank God,” he sighed. Hannibal looked up from the tea cup and into Clarice Starling’s eyes, “Oh thank God.” He stood, the cloth napkin falling to the floor, and he walked over to her. 

She turned her body in her seat to face him, one hand on the back of the chair, the other resting on the table. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, “Hannibal, I don’t…”

“I love you, Clarice,” The Doctor sank to his knees and placed his head in her lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist, “I love you, Clarice. You were right to use my own words and technique against me. All I need of Mischa is in my mind. She belongs in my Memory Palace. Even opening the door for her one day a year is detrimental.”

Clarice felt streams of tears leave his face and land on the dress. She moved her hands to him; running her fingers through his salt and pepper hair while the other caressed his back. 

“I didn’t want to do this today but I did because it was a beautiful gift that you were giving me. How many men are fortunate enough to have such a beautiful woman suggest the idea of role playing their slightly incestuous fantasy? It’s why I took the drugs, I thought they would help me get through it and they did some. But I should have taken a stronger dose. And you broke that damn tea cup on purpose! I was worried that for once in my life that it would gather back together and I would lose you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Hannibal.” Clarice lifted her hand off his back and pushed her tea cup onto the floor. The tea in hers splashed up as well as the cup crumbled into shards. 

Hannibal jerked his head up from her lap to survey the additional cup’s remains. They too stayed damaged. He then looked up at Clarice, his maroon eyes soft, his cheeks streamed with tears. She wiped the tears away with her thumb and continued to hold his face.

“I am glad you’re able to realize you can fully let go of Mischa now. It was easier for me to let go of my father because I was almost ready and you gave me that final push over the edge. You weren’t ready yet. I thought the role playing on her birthdays would give you a taste of what you thought you wanted and you would eventually tire of it and see it wasn’t what you needed and wasn’t what was right for Mischa. And I was right. It’s not what Mischa would have wanted for you and it’s not what I want for you, for us. It was my way of pushing you over the edge, slowly. Besides if your Memory Palace rooms for Mischa are as magnificent as the ones I constructed for my daddy she needs nothing else.”

Clarice helped Hannibal to his feet as she stood and then took him into her arms, “And don’t throw yourself at my feet again. I’m not your sister. I am not your idol. I am your equal, your lover.”

“Yes. _Lover._ ” He leaned over and kissed her passionately, his hands on her back pulling her as close as he could to his body. He opened his mouth and she did in return allowing his tongue entrance. Clarice’s fingers found their way to the buttons on Dr. Lecter’s shirt and she started to pop them open.

This was beauty; this was redemption: a woman who loved him despite his horrendous crimes. 

She led him backwards through the open terrace door into their living room for privacy before pushing him down onto the couch. As a small man he landed fairly softly and was quickly joined by Clarice straddling his lap. She took his face into her hands as she kissed him passionately. She opened her mouth letting his tongue trace the inside of her lips before entering. His arms were around her back tight as if those shards would still come together and she’d really turn into Mischa. 

Clarice ran her hands down his neck and finished opening his shirt, running her fingers through his chest hair. Like his actual hair it was greying but it did not matter as she felt his growing erection under her. However Clarice pulled away from him and asked a blunt question, “Hannibal, in our time together you never told me did you want to fuck your sister?”

He ran his hands down her sides, “Did I what?”

“You’re the psychiatrist here,” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Mischa was young when she died. When you originally wanted her to fill my spot you had no way of knowing the type of woman she’d become. You could have made her anything you wanted and fulfilled that taboo fantasy.”

Dr. Lecter’s maroon eyes met hers. Her ability to read him had reached uncanny levels.

“Those thoughts had crossed my mind to be honest but it was really myself not wanting to admit I was in love with you. And you were too strong to break and I realized I didn’t want to break you, I wanted you. I’d actually wanted you for a while, you know that, we’ve discussed it. This was just me being stubborn.”

She smiled at him. Clarice knew he’d felt these things for a while but saying them aloud was therapeutic. She knew psychologists and psychiatrists where good at telling people what to do to heal but were horrible at doing it themselves. She jumped off his lap suddenly leaving a chill on his growing erection.

“I’ll be right back,” she ran out onto the terrace and grabbed his champagne flute. Clarice walked swiftly back into the room the champagne swaying back and forth. She lifted the skirt with her free hand as she resituated herself on his lap, making sure she straddled his member perfectly. 

“Now unzip me,” she demanded.

Hannibal arched an eyebrow as he brought one hand to her back and slowly pulled the zipper down from her neck to her waist. Then with his grace and skill he unhooked her bra only using one hand.

Clarice huffed, “Excuse me, Doctor but did I ask you to do that?”

Hannibal kissed her neck, “I’m a pragmatic man, Clarice. It eventually has to go as well.” He then took the glass from her as she shimmied out of the top half of her dress and bra. She pushed them down around her waist before taking the glass back from him.

“Clarice Starling is plenty old enough for champagne,” she brought the glass to her lips and took a slip.

Dr. Lecter’s held her thighs and waited with baited breath. She swallowed that whole sip but quickly took another one letting it linger in her mouth as she stuck her middle finger in removed some of the champagne and dripped it on his favorite breast of hers. She watched as his eyes intensely watch the drop roll from the top of breast down to her nipple.

“And yet here you are an old man who's made so much progress today in locking his sister back up forever in his Memory Palace but you still can’t let go of a breast feeding hang up.”

“It’s not that I can’t, it’s that I won’t. And at this point with you, darling it’s a fetish,” Dr. Lecter bent down sucking and licking all the alcohol off of Clarice’s breast.

She arched her back pushing her breasts forward, her breathing labored. She tilted the glass forward, dipping her finger into the champagne and sprinkled it on her other breast.

“I love your breasts, Clarice,” Hannibal whispered as he lifted his head and moved his mouth to her left breast.

“Hmmmm…” She wanted to say something snarky but was too distracted by his touch. 

He lifted his head, “They were a damn distraction this year when stripping you for the bath; instant reminder I no longer wanted you role playing Mischa, that instead I wanted to fuck Clarice Starling.”

Hannibal pushed her down onto her back, smothering her with the weight of his body as he returned to kissing her. Startled, Starling dropped the champagne flute. It fell onto the hardwood floor and shattered but neither of them paid it attention. All glasses were staying pieces of shards. They were happy here.

Clarice’s dress bunched up at her waist, allowing her legs to wrap them around his thighs, her feet resting right under his ass; she ran her fingers through his hair. Hannibal moved his lips from hers, instead kissing her cheek, working his way down her neck. She tilted her head back giving him more exposure to her neck. Hannibal placed a trail of kisses down her neck and as he caressed her breasts. His lips eventually trailed down her stomach as did his hands on her sides. He then sat up on his knees between her legs and removed the dress and her panties. 

“Much better,” he studied her body as he removed his clothes before stretching himself out stomach down on the couch.

Clarice opened her legs wider and pushed herself up further on the couch, allowing him more access to her sex. He closed his eyes, lowered his head between her thighs and inhaled deeply through his nose. He tilted his head up, held the breath for a few seconds before exhaling through his mouth.

“I love your cunt too,” he sighed. “Its musk, its warmth, its taste.” With that The Doctor lowered his mouth and lightly kissed her mound before his tongue instinctively found its way to her clit, circling it softly with the tip. 

Clarice grabbed the side of the couch in response, “Oh God you’re going for slow build up. Such a fucking tease.”

Hannibal pulled his tongue away and looked up at her, an evil leer on his face. Unlike previous paramours, Clarice loved it rough and fast. He used tenderness and drawn out sessions to tease her. He could be happy only making love with her, but her enjoyment of rough sex gave him an acceptable outlet for his violent tendencies. With Clarice by his side, he’d never kill for humor again. 

“All good things to those who wait,” he said derisively before returning his tongue to her clit. The tip softly circled a few more times before he trailed down and licked up some of her fluids for himself. Clarice’s chest rose and fell fast as whimpers escaped her lips. He caressed the sides of behind with his palms as he brought his lips to her clit and sucked.

Clarice closed her eyes. “Yes…ooh yes,” she softly moaned. 

Hannibal sucked a little a harder and felt her buttocks and thighs tighten in response. He let it go, lapping a bit more of her wetness up before pulling away. 

“Quit teasing me…” Clarice’s head rolled back and forth. 

Hannibal crawled back up so he was face to face with her, his lips only a couple inches from hers. He was on his knees between her legs, his arms on each side of her shoulders. She could feel his erect organ lightly brush her stomach as she pushed her arms between his and dug her nails into his back.

“You said you wanted to fuck Clarice Starling. So fuck her,” Clarice lifted her upper body up, digging her nails in deeper to his back for support as she licked her own secretions from his lips before sucking on them hard. 

Hannibal returned the kissed with equal passion, his erection growing firmer the longer it lasted. Starling ran her nails up and down his back, still digging them into his flesh. He flexed his shoulder blades and arched his back in response. When that didn’t stop her, Dr. Lecter pulled away from her lips and sat up on his knees, “Yes, I want to fuck Clarice Starling but not if she’s going to make my back bleed.” He reached behind and grabbed her wrists pulling her hands front and center. Sure enough there was blood and skin beneath her nails. 

She giggled, “Remind me to clean out the DNA evidence later.”

He threw her arms down to her sides before pushing on her inner thighs. Clarice spread her legs a little wider and Hannibal guided himself into completely into her. She gasped and braced but The Doctor did not thrust yet. Instead he wrapped his hands around her upper arms.

“And now Clarice Starling can do no more damage to my back while I fuck her,” He leered at her at he then leaned in and kissed her. He squeezed her arms tight as he slammed in and out of her hard. She kicked her feet at against the couch’s pillows, every time her body squirmed under his, he applied more pressure as she moaned his named over and over as he sucked and nibbled on her neck. He knew he was being rough, but it was nothing she didn’t like or couldn’t take. Clarice had come to learn sex and violence were opposite sides of the same coin for Hannibal. She sometimes wondered what might had been had he found a compatible lover sooner. 

Dr. Lecter lifted one of his hands off of her arms and placed it on her neck. “Silence,” he hissed. 

Clarice closed her eyes and took a deep breath before he lightly wrapped his fingers around her neck. He continued to thrust inside of her as he took in the sight of his hand around her throat. Her pleasure and life was completely in his hands. Mischa needed to remain pure in his Memory Palace. This gesture of her knowing the monster yet loving and trusting the man was the only redemption he needed. A rush ran down Hannibal’s spine; this enthralled him and brought him closer to his climax.

Clarice enjoyed the blankness and silence of her mind; the quiet before the storm he was about to send her into. Had she had known about breath play and BDSM as alternate way to quite the lambs how different her life might have looked. Her toes curled and thighs began to quiver as she arched her back. She instinctively tried to take a breath but The Doctor’s hand prevented it.

He felt the involuntary reaction trying to happen, “Die for me, Clarice. La petite mort. Let me kill you.”

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back as the pulsating between her legs of her orgasm started and it was intense, so intense because of the lack of oxygen. The room started to spin as she lifted her hand and placed it Hannibal’s wrist. He lifted his hand instantly and she gasped for air. He watched her face flush with color with each breath. Hannibal’s grip around her arm tightened as his face flush too as he came inside of her. 

“Clarice…” He moaned her name deep from the back of his throat as he did. He let go of her arm as he collapsed on top of her. He rested his head on her chest and listened as her breathing and heartbeat returned to normal. They remained that way on the couch for some time.

She ran her hand softly up and down his back feeling the scratches she made while she rested her forehead against his. The Doctor gently ran his fingers up and down the curves of Clarice’s hip. So gently one would never believe that earlier they were around her throat. That was the thing with Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling; they had assimilated so well into their new life they could tell the people in their life now he was really a notorious cannibalistic serial killer and she was the FBI agent charged to catch him and they would laugh it off.

“We should go out tonight,” Clarice finally spoke. “It’s early. There’s still time for drinks and people watching. We have symphony tickets for next week don’t we?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Oh dear, Hannibal, what did you do to me? I’m already sore.”

“Nothing you can’t handle, my love,” he kissed her lightly before smiling at her. 

Clarice reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. Apparently she wasn’t done pushing his limits with questions, “Did you ever think about having kids when you were younger, Hannibal?”

His hand froze on her hip. _What a queer question. Had she really contemplated the idea of me as a father?_ “Biology doesn’t preclude me from thinking about having children now, Clarice. This is why you got an IUD.”

She stretched her other arm over her head, “That didn’t answer my question.”

“I am a damaged man, you know that. And many would say a deranged man. I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about it. Reproduction is a natural urge in all species. But I knew I shouldn’t. Besides there are enough people who reproduce who shouldn’t. Why do you ask, Clarice? Did your biological clock finally start to tick?”

“No. It just seems like you were so protective of Mischa that once in the US and an established doctor charming the upper crust you would have found a woman to marry and have children with to protect and father. How many serial killers took that extra step of blending in by marrying?”

He sat up on his knees, “Now you’re just mocking me, Clarice.”

Clarice sat up too, her legs still on either side of him, “No, I’m serious, Hannibal. All those years, a bachelor. Krendler thought you were gay and that you hired S&M hookers. A bit later I learned about your occasional socialite mistresses and proved that theory wrong. He was disappointed.”

Dr. Lecter chuckled as he took Clarice’s chin into his hand, “He would think I was a sodomite wouldn’t he? And as far as being a bachelor all those years, the answer is quite dull really. None of them matched my wits or intellect. Rachel was the closest and I might have married her…” He looked deeply in Clarice’s eyes as he ran his hand down her neck caressing it. “It’s irrelevant now.”

She leaned over and kissed him passionately, before awkwardly removing her legs from around him and swinging them over the side of the couch. Clarice found his discarded his shirt, put it on and buttoned it up, “I need to go the bathroom.”

“Faux modesty, Clarice?” The Doctor asked turning to sit properly on the couch. He leaned back and stretched his arms out on the back of the couch. “We’re the only ones here.”

She turned around and smiled at him, “I’ll put it in terms you’ll understand then, I think it’s rude to run from one room to another naked.” 

“Touché.”

“I’m going to go upstairs and change as well,” Clarice gave him a light kiss. “I love you, Hannibal.”

He smiled large exposing all his small teeth, “I love you too, Clarice. And thank you.”

She skipped off and up the marble staircase to their bedroom and into the master bathroom. The white roses and lavender still sat on the counter adding additional beauty to the room. She inhaled their scene as she peed and washed her hands. She noted Hannibal’s blood and skin still under her fingernails and pulled her nailbrush out of one of the drawers and scrubbed her nails clean. Once done she unbuttoned the shirt and let it drop to the floor.

Clarice knew she’d be sore between her legs in the morning but for now she’d bask in the afterglow. Hannibal was always careful with their breath play and never left a mark on her neck. However as she looked in the mirror she discovered why she was sore elsewhere; Hannibal left bite marks on her necks and bruises on her upper arms from where he’d held her down. She smiled to herself as she studied them; they were already turning a dark purple; the color of _his_ passion, of _their_ passion.


End file.
